


Delectable

by Rabakholi



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Dom Jaskier, Established Relationship, M/M, Praise Kink, Smut, d/s dynamics, sub geralt, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26197582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabakholi/pseuds/Rabakholi
Summary: “Come here, Geralt.”He didn’t react.“Geralt.”, he repeated, louder, more forceful.At this, the witcher snapped out of it and his eyes wandered up to meet Jaskier’s. The bard spread his arms along the back and regarded him with an almost amused expression.“Are you hard?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 221





	Delectable

The room was chill, the drafty windows making it hard to keep it cozy and warm. Still, Geralt felt like he was melting right where he sat. His heart was thundering in his chest – as much as it could, at least - and his mouth got drier and drier the longer he looked at his bard.   
Jaskier sat on the ratty chaise lounge near the fireplace, his lute on his lap and a pen in his mouth. Fuck, his mouth. Those promising lips; lips he knew well enough to be able to imagine their touch on his skin. Wandering down his neck, soft and damp on his skin. A shiver went down his spine, his cock throbbing.   
Jaskier was focused on his work, too preoccupied to notice Geralt’s struggle. He was producing some new melody, some new song, some new nightmare for Geralt’s ears. Soft hums filled the air, sometimes he mumbled a few lyrics under his breath, his voice like balm for Geralt’s temper. He loved Jaskier’s voice. He loved it singing, he loved it whispering into his ear, growling between kisses and breathing his name when he clenched around Jask just right.   
Geralts eyes travelled down his figure. Down to his lap, the safest place on this deity-forsaken world.   
The spot was currently taken by Jaskiers lute, propped on the bards shapely, thick thigh.  
Geralt swallowed.   
He’d not be able to calm down at this rate, not even a little bit. He was rock hard, his cock surely leaking already; he felt his composure crumble.   
He must have made a sound, because Jaskier looked up, brow raised.   
“Are you quite alright?”   
Geralt didn’t react, not immediately. He stared at Jaskier’s thigh, his eyes glued to him, his hands clenched around the cup he held. Jaskier chuckled lowly.   
It must have been longer than he’d thought. He shifted, clenched his muscles and relished in the small whine escaping Geralt.   
He put away his instrument, placed it on the floor next to the furniture and leaned back against the backrest. Geralt watched him very, very closely; his pupils blown and biting his lower lip.   
“Come here, Geralt.”   
He didn’t react.   
“Geralt.”, he repeated, louder, more forceful.   
At this, the witcher snapped out of it and his eyes wandered up to meet Jaskier’s. The bard spread his arms along the back and regarded him with an almost amused expression.  
“Are you hard?”   
Geralt nodded, his hand coming down to cup his crotch and grind against it. Jaskier let him.   
He’d not torture his Witcher today.   
He raised his hips, settled into the cushions. One hand came down to pat his thigh invitingly.   
“Come, Geralt. Don’t do that all the way over there, I want to see you.”   
Geralt followed the order but hesitated in front of Jaskier. He looked insecure, clearly not knowing how to proceed.   
“Take off your breeches, Geralt. You won’t need them.”   
Another whine, low, almost quiet enough to not be heard, but Jaskier did. He smirked, loved the sounds Geralt made for him.  
“It will feel good, I promise.”   
Geralt nodded. He reached down, trailed his fingers over the laces before he undid them, pulled them down and stepped out of them. Good boy he was, he also folded them and hung them over the arm rest of the lounge.   
It left him in his wide, soft cotton shirt, and nothing else. His dick was standing proud, red, teased to absolute hardness.   
Jaskier took one of his hands in his own and reached for the back of his thigh, pulling to bring his knee up onto the furniture. “Take a seat, big guy.”   
“Jask-“   
Geralt was pulled down, his standing leg forcefully pulled out from underneath him. He caught himself with a hand on the backrest, face just inches from Jaskier’s.   
“Don’t hesitate, darling. We can always stop if you do not like it. “  
The bard raised his head to press a peck to Geralts lips. “But I want you to try, at least.”  
Geralt agreed and lowered himself, wanted to ask if this was alright, but he never managed to articulate the words; Jaskier had moved his leg and pressed his thigh against Geralt’s crotch, the pressure heavenly on his straining erection.   
His mind went blank, the friction delicious, devilish. Geralt groaned as he looked down, taking in their positions. His bard was still fully clothed while the Witcher himself was in a thin shirt, barely dressed at all. It felt weirdly filthy, weirdly intimate and heady.   
Jaskier took the Witcher’s hands, kissed his knuckles and placed them onto his own shoulders, telling him to hold on.   
One hand came to rest high on Geralt’s thigh, the other low on his back.  
“Ride me, baby. Make yourself feel good.”   
Geralt whined again, before relaxing his own legs, sitting firmly on Jaskier’s. He sighed in relief, his eyes falling closed as he moved his hips.   
“Ohhh, yes. Look at you, how good you are.” Jaskier laughed, full of fondness and delight at Geralt’s openness towards him. It never ceased to amaze him.   
He took a good long look at the man in his lap; so strong, so dangerous – so desperate to be loved and cherished. Geralt never thought he was worth of any of the praise Jaskier showered him with, but that didn’t discourage him from continuing so.   
He encouraged him, his hand on his thigh squeezing and stroking, the hand on his back never leaving.   
Geralt canted his hips, drove his erection against Jaskier’s pant leg, his hips moving faster and faster. His mouth fell open, his breath leaving his lungs in little puffs of air, the odd whine or whimper following.   
“Fuck, you look so delicious, Geralt.” Jaskier shifted, brought his mouth to the junction of Geralt’s neck and pressed small kisses to his skin. “You taste even better, beautiful.”   
“Jaskier-“ His voice sounded wrecked, his cock leaked all over himself and the shirt he was still wearing. The soft fabric teased him even more, lightly catching at his head or just tickling his hot skin.   
“Please, I need – hhng.“   
Jaskier changed his hold on Geralt’s thigh, the angle now letting his thumb press into the soft skin of Geralt’s groin. It was still not enough, he needed more.   
He sank forward, his forehead against Jaskier’s shoulder, panting and rolling his hips like a madman.   
More.  
He growled under his breath, letting it taper of into a high whine when Jaskier’s hand squeezed tighter.   
“Talk to me, baby.”, he demanded.   
“More, Jask, please, more-“   
The warmth on his back vanished. He wanted to whine, but he didn’t get the chance.   
Jask wrapped his hand around Geralt’s throat, lightly, not even squeezing; just holding, making sure Geralt knew he was there, knew he could let go.   
He cursed, his cock squirting more pre-cum. He felt his orgasm build, felt his balls pull up, his whole body going tense. He lost his rhythm, lost himself in the pleasure and the love provided by his bard.  
“Can I- oh, fuck, can I come?”   
The bard smiled. He was such a delight to have. He put more pressure onto Geralts’ throat, just enough to make him feel it.  
“Oh, baby, of course you can.”   
So he did. He exploded, his cum streaking Jaskier’s tunic, but Geralt hardly noticed. He squeezed his eyes closed, his head thrown back, presenting his neck.   
“Good, let it all out, baby.” Jaskier praised in a low tone, rumbling through his chest. “You’re so good for me, holy fuck.”   
He stroked his thumb back and forth, caressing the thin skin of Geralt’s neck. “So pretty, so good.”   
he let his fingers trail down, across his chest, before wrapping around Geralt’s dick and stroking him.   
“Ah, no, please, Jask-“   
“Can you come again?” He increased the pressure, slid his other hand behind Geralt, teasing between his cheeks. “Can you give me another one?”   
Geralt moved his hips, almost unconsciously; his head back, eyes rolling skyward. He couldn’t decide what was worse: the teasing, or the hand on his dick pushing him into overstimulation.   
“Please- I can’t please-“   
“Shhh, baby, you can. I know you can, you’re so good for me. You’re perfect.”   
A high whine, animalistic to its core, and then Geralt moved faster, chasing the sensations. One hand shifted from Jaskier’s shoulder to the back of his head, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling.   
Jaskier hissed. “Ah, yes, yes, show me baby. Show me how you feel.”   
He picked up the pace, gave him a good few tugs before lessening the pressure.   
“Baby, fuck, look at you.”   
Geralt’s cockhead poked out of Jaskier’s loose fist, before vanishing again. “Oh, how delicious that looks. I just want to eat you.”   
He let go of Geralt’s ass and ran his fingers through the cum on his shirt, gathering it and then sticking his fingers into his mouth, licking.   
Geralt stopped completely, his eyes wide and unbelieving, his breath leaving him in one single breath. His heart threatened to explode, his head was filled with nothing but want, his lungs filled with nothing but the smell of his own cum, Jaskier’s arousal and fondness.  
It was perfect.   
“What? Do you want to taste?”   
Jaskier held out his spit-slicked fingers, an open invitation that Geralt couldn’t deny. He wrapped a hand around Jask’s wrist, pulled his hand close and promptly tried to deepthroat his fingers.   
“Gee, slow, gorgeous. Don’t hurt yourself.”   
The taste was amazing. His own taste mixed with Jaskier’s, swirled together and created an aphrodisiac like he’d never tasted before. A deep rumble built in the Witcher’s chest, almost like a purr. Delighted, Jaskier went back to jacking him off.   
He hummed, as Geralt started to drive his dick into his fist, all while holding onto Jask’s wrist, now with both hands, as if the bard would take back his fingers at the first possibility.   
Showered in praise and his whole conscious filled with their combined tastes, Geralt didn’t feel his second orgasm build until it hit him.   
He arched his back, his dick twitching violently as Jaskier stroked him through it, all the while telling him how good he was, how he’d never find anyone close to him, ever.   
Geralt looked delectable. His shirt hung off one shoulder, the laces keeping it closed almost undone. His skin was flushed, his dick angry red, still spilling little spurts of cum, as Jaskier trailed his fingertips up and down his shaft. He still held on to the bard’s wrist, his hands clamped around the appendage, his eyes rolled back far enough to make Jaskier fear for his safety; his fingers in his mouth and spit spilling around them, connecting them.   
Only when Geralt slumped, fell against Jaskiers chest weakly; only then did he let go of his dick.   
He let him suckle on his fingers, stroked the witchers back with his free hand. He was very aware of his own cock straining in his breeches, but he’d give Geralt a few minutes before taking him. He give him the chance to mentally prepare, though.   
Geralt felt the hand on his back trail down his spine, dipping between his asscheeks and search for his hole. He tensed at the slick feeling of the cooling spit around his rim, whined into the skin of Jaskiers neck.   
“When you’re done whining, I’ll take this little hole here. Think you can give me another one?”  
  



End file.
